Lost at Sea
by CSIBritfan
Summary: It's the last night of their seaside break. How do they decide to spend it? Thanks for your fantastic comments. They make me smile!
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer - these characters are not my property. They belong to CBS and Anthony Zuicker. I'll give them a little bath before I return them, ready for the new series!_**

**_The quotes used here are from 'Greenaway' and 'Ode On A Grecian Urn' by John Keats. Not mine either. There are more chapters...if I negotiate the upload process properly..._**

**_It's holiday time and our geeks need a little R&R themselves._**

Lost at Sea

There is nothing as perfect as the sea. Coastline threading round the jagged bay, aged and wonderful. All seeing and all knowing. It has been there for years and will be there for many more. It can tell tales of sadness and heroism, of life taking and life giving, rolling in and rolling out on the tides of generations, past present and future. It does its job, unquestioningly and perfectly. Wave after wave chasing along the shoreline. A crash, deflating to a sizzle, of white foam thrusting up the sand, meeting the tide lines well worn by time.

Gil Grissom was lost at sea. He wondered at it. He watched it. He thought about the things it had seen, the life forms it had nourished and the violent deaths it could cause without even thinking about it. He thought of John Betjamen's lines from 'Greenaway,' 'what silent tentacles unfurl, to drag me to what dreadful jaws?' This was a thousand years away from Las Vegas, and he was determined to drink in every last drop.

He leaned forward over the harbour wall. He breathed in the air that only the sea could conjure. Ocean air was unique in fragrance and clarity. Tinged with the smells of summer and mixed with the turbulence of winter seasons. He looked down into the bowels of the water. The sun's rays danced along the ripples, hypnotising any watcher. He shook his head to clear his eyes. Who says holidays are all about tourism?

Grissom couldn't quite remember the last time he was by the sea. Lake Mead was a man made spectacle, the only water area around the Nevada state, and quiet walks there were respite from the neon madness of The Strip. But nothing came close to this. 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty.' Nature was a wonderful thing.

Strong arms pushed Grissom up so he was gazing back on the nautical horizon. A few days by the sea. He smiled to himself. Three days off in a row was a rarity, but now he had new priorities. Gone were the days of back to back doubles and triples with only enough time to eat and change before heading back to the lab to crunch more evidence and data. He had a reason to relax and enjoy himself.

His reason stroked her hand through his hair. He turned round and gave Sara Sidle a radiant smile. Only she got to see that smile. He looked at her as she spoke.

'Do you want this or not? She thrust a softening ice cream into his hand.

'It's melting!'

'That's the only way to eat them by the sea,' she reassured him. 'Thank God it caters to tourists round here.'

They were similar in so many ways – work ethic, personality, sense of humour – yet both had such different views about a seaside break.

The sun was casting an elongated, orange glow over the harbour as the two slurped at their cones.

'Don't I get a hello then, Gil?'

'Sure you do.' He punctuated the sentence with a lick of vanilla. 'Hello. How was the flight over, this time?'

'Ok. No delays. How was your journey? Was it easy to get away from the lab? It must be short handed.'

Grissom contemplated his answers. He was never one to rush.

'The lab is still standing, or was when I left five hours ago. The shift is fine. The guys are all in, except for you.'

'Ah,' she responded, 'but I'm on holiday time. I was scheduled to be off this week. I've flown in from Boston, leaving former class mates in the lurch, I might add, especially to share some down time with you…whereas you on the other hand…'

'I'm the supervisor. I can do what I want,' he twinkled with deviousness. 'If I want to meet up with a beautiful woman for a dirty weekend, I can arrange the schedule to accommodate it… so there.'

'A dirty weekend? Is that what I am to you? Your filthy, little secret?

'Oh yes.' His eyes were full of mischief.

So were hers.

'I like being a naughty secret,' she whispered as she leaned over and licked his ice cream.

Grissom shuddered. Lucky ice cream, he thought, as he watched Sara's hair flick round. The lady of the sea captivated him with her seduction. He was hypnotised for the second time in an hour. He was compelled to follow the evidence.

_**Please review if you like it!**_


	2. The Battle

**_Disclaimer - still, sadly, not mine. I don't own George Michael, Wham! or their songs either. Boo Hoo. THANK GOD I don't own the hat!_**

Lost at Sea 2

'You're not wearing that!'

Sara Sidle was adamant. Only the brave would challenge her when she had her mind made up like this. But he loved a challenge.

Grissom wandered into the hotel bedroom sporting his blue Hawaiian shirt. He was trying to button it up when he was hit by a force ten Hurricane Sara.

'I thought you loved this shirt?' he questioned.

'No, it looks like your mum has dressed you for your holidays.'

'But she has. She bought this for me the other Christmas.'

'Which other Christmas?' she demanded. '1986?'

'George Michael had one. "Club Tropicana."

'Yes. In 1986!' she deadpanned. 'Take it off… or do I have to make you?' Her eyes glistened with dirty promise.

Grissom wasn't biting.

'OK. OK. You win. But I'll take it off my self. We'll be here all day otherwise. I recognise that tone… and look.'

They both smirked at each other. This was a conversation, both knew, would be picked up later.

Grissom unravelled the shirt from his arms and shoulders and he hung it over the bed head. He rummaged in his sports bag for something more acceptable. He didn't know why she was complaining about the shirt now. He'd worn it several times previously and had had some startling sexual encounters as a result. But he had to recognise that the first item she always discarded and banished to the bedroom floor was his blue Hawaiian shirt. If he had time, he'd go shopping while he was here.

She watched him, eyes fixed on his shoulders and back. She wondered why he kept himself swathed in oversized tops at the lab. He had strong, broad shoulders with fair muscle definition. She loved massaging a rough case out of them. She loved getting them out of that revolting shirt. She made a pact to herself that, when he was on shift and she had a day off, the shirt would have a new role in their lives – as oil rags and dusters. If she had time, she'd take him shopping while they were there.

'What time is the boat booked for, Griss?'

He struggled to answer as he pushed his head through the neck hole of a red tee shirt.

'Hurmphh…thirty.'

She couldn't help but smile. There was something so irresistible about the entomologist. Especially at play. At the lab he was a stuffed shirt. Admired and respected, but someone to be weary of. His mantra was simple - do it right. He wanted a good job doing and his relentless pursuit of perfection made him appear somewhat unfeeling at times. But he loved his team and would do anything to support them… especially when their backs were against the wall on a case, or their personal lives were making them crack. But Sara had uncovered a new Grissom. Well, not new to her, but a memory of a lecturer whose company she had enjoyed many moons ago. A twinkle in the eye, a cheeky banter, a suggestive entendre. Her private Grissom. They'd had a rocky ride to this point, but the barriers were down and they were comfortable and intimate with each other. Work wasn't an issue in their time off the clock and they'd developed alter egos. Or maybe this was the real them, and work was their performance. She didn't know. And to be honest, she didn't really care anymore. They were together.

'Ten thirty at the harbour,' he clarified, smoothing his silver curls back down with a firm hand. 'Have you packed the cool box for the day?'

'Just doing it. That tee shirt is much better too,' she sniggered.

'You win this battle, but not the war,' he countered.

'We'll see. Is the factor 15 sunscreen high enough, do think?'

Sara puzzled over things like this. They lived in a twilight world, a world of darkness in every possible sense. They shut the sun out of their lives as it disturbed their sleep. Theirs was a cold and lonely existence. The only ray of hope was each other, just to light the way along the long road they travelled. Sun screen just wasn't a priority at 3am in an overcast laboratory. A bit of sun on their faces would do them both the power of good. But looking like a lobster wouldn't.

'I'll get the food and drink from the supermarket on the way.'

In her rucksack she threw in a trashy novel. Why not? She was on her holidays. She could laugh at the poor forensic techniques of some of the greatest literary detectives of the genre. Why did they never wear latex gloves at least, she mused? Grissom had requested Bug of the Month with a revealing centrefold of a spider or something. Hopefully a large wave would mysteriously wash it overboard. It got thrust in, along with her baseball cap and hair ties. Her mp3 fitted into her knee length shorts pocket and she put Grissom's original, scratched, held together with sticky tape walkman in the bag too. She really needed to up date him with the digital revolution. She went for the factor 15 and with a shrug, threw it in with everything else. She knew if either went pink, it was bad and more cream was needed. Sun shades on her head, she was ready for the off.

'Ready?' she asked. 'Need anything else?'

'Only this,' Grissom responded.

'Oh no. Please. Not in public and not with me,' she begged.

'Only the battle, my dear, not the war,' he smirked, as he placed his straw hat on his head at a jaunty angle and ushered her out of the room.


	3. The Voyage Out

**_Disclaimer - still not mine. Still gutted about it..._**

**_Thank you to those who have taken time to review. It makes my day to read them. But keep reviewing! Please! Love to hear from new readers too..._**

Lost at Sea 3

The transition from land to boat had been painless. Grissom had listened carefully to the instructions he'd been given and was loading himself and the bags on board. He just had to wait for Sara to get back with the cool box. He lounged on the side of the boat, listening to the gentle lap of the sea swell against the hull. A fine day for it aboard HMS Grissom, he chuckled to himself.

'A-hoy me hearty!' he drawled from the deck, as she came into sight, swinging the provisions by her side. 'Come aboard, land lubber!'

Inside she was cringing. When she'd agreed to cut short her class reunion at Harvard to meet Grissom for a few days, she had been met with the idea of a trip around the coves. She'd thought it a lovely idea. She missed the sea and longed to be near it again. But she had started to get concerned when Grissom began to re-read 'Treasure Island' again. 'Pirates of the Caribbean' had also been mentioned in a too- casual- to- be- comfortable fashion. All he needed now was an eye patch and a parrot on his shoulder. She was having serious reservations. She was a well read, science Msc graduate, working with citizens encountering the worst emotional moment of their lives and here she was, about to sail off into the horizon with Long John Gil-ver, the scourge of the seas. It didn't look good. Sometimes, he could be such a nerd.

'Please don't pipe me on board. That would be too embarrassing,' she muttered at him, as she threw the cool box on the deck and stepped down from the gang plank.

A gentlemanly hand helped her stabilise herself.

'Gil, I know we are on holiday and I know we don't get a lot of time together like this, but please, for the love of all that is holy, drop the nautical references. People are listening,' she hissed. It was a good natured warning… for now.

'Aye aye, skipper!' he winked at her. Ooh, the things that wink could do to her. The detonation device in her subsided… for the time being at least.

'Can you unhitch the rope from the quayside and throw it on board please? Then it's anchors away!'

The look she flashed was dangerous. He was quick to smile an apology. He knew she would forgive him. The boyish charm always melted her heart. He was irresistible to her as he'd only recently discovered. He'd never considered himself much of a catch. Ha! Catch of the day, he punned for his own amusement. He daren't let Sara hear that!

Why can't I stay mad at him long? She questioned herself, as she unhooked the rope and hurled it towards Grissom. Look at him. Bless. All eager to enjoy the day with me. I've never seen those khaki cargo shorts before, she pondered. Looks kind of dishy in them. Ha! Dish of the day. After warning him about puns, she couldn't let that slip, she resolved.

A breeze across the bay filled the sails as Grissom and Sara left the seclusion of the harbour. He was proving to be a master sailor. Pull this, push that, tie this down, lash that up. The boat moved effortlessly over the serene, calm waters of the Pacific Ocean. A gentle wind, generated by speed, rushed through their hair, blowing the cobwebs of Las Vegas away. They headed out towards the coves and caves of the coastline. They maintained a respectful speed and distance from the shore. The sea could be a dangerous mistress and they had to court her carefully.

Sara reached into the cool box to retrieve two diet cokes. She threw one to Grissom who deftly caught it and pulled the opener back in one, smooth, singular handed motion. She cracked the other and took a long drink out of it. She leaned back on the padded ground roll that had come along with the vessel. Propping herself on her left elbow, she watched contentedly, as Grissom put himself to work. He was no slacker. That was evident. Reams of sweat were forming at his temples, and the back of his tee shirt had a damp rivulet on the lower back. She marvelled at how relaxed he looked. Master of the ship and his own destiny.

'I was thinking we could moor at Devil's Cove for lunch. Be about an hour. This afternoon is ours. We could laze around here; go for a walk up the cliffside, whatever you want to do.' Grissom narrated his thoughts aloud.

Sara looked up from her bag. She was trying to locate her book.

'Whatever we want to do,' she corrected. 'It's us, we, plural. Lazing is good at the moment. Looks like you could do with a bit of that too.'

Grissom finished tying a rope and gazed down at her.

'Yeah, us, we, plural. It's still a bit… well, you know…'

'Weird? Yeah, I know,' she grinned. 'Good though, isn't it?'

'I wonder how long it will be before it seems normal?' contemplated Grissom, as he dropped on the mat beside her.

'I don't think we will ever be, or consider this as, normal,' she replied. 'It's been a long process. Your hearing thing, the Hank thing, my history thing, the guys at work thing… I could go on.'

'Well don't,' he gently rebuked, as he leaned in with a tender kiss.

'OK,' she agreed, and leaned back in to reciprocate – at a much more passionate level.

'I don't know what the nautical equivalent of the mile high club is,' he ventured, 'but I think I'd quite like to join now.'

There was no doubt he did not have honourable intentions.

Neither had she as Sara gave him permission to come aboard.


	4. Lost at Sea

_**Thanks for the reviews so far... glad I released your inner pirate!**_

_**References are made to series 5 and series 6. If you haven't seen them, don't look!**_

_**The same disclaimers apply. Even if I close my eyes and hold my breath til I'm sick... They're not mine**_

_**This is my take on when, how and where it all began…**_

Lost at Sea 4

After the pretty heated encounter on the deck of the boat, Grissom had managed to find his sea legs long enough to navigate them into Devil's Cove. Sharp, jaggered points of rock screamed into the air, like gnashing teeth and talons, the undoing of smugglers centuries ago. The hostile landscape was a stark contrast to the peaceful, blue, clear waters of the ocean around them.

'Wow, it's glorious,' gasped Sara, as she adjusted herself back in to her swimming kit. She'd cleverly worn it under her clothes, not counting on Grissom doing his own coastguard strip and search routine.

His arm around her shoulders welcomed her to the view.

'It'll be here long after we've gone,' he mused. 'It was here before our forefathers. The transience of nature and beauty is astounding. Peckish?

'Are you kidding? I'm starving,' she joked, as she scuttled over to the cool box. She spread a picnic out on the deck.

'If you're going to keep that tee shirt off, you'll need the sun screen. Need any help?

'I thought you said you were starving?' he teased.

'I don't want to see you burn,' she replied innocently enough. Both knew that was just a front.

'I'll do the front, you do the back. Any good?'

'It'll have to do I suppose,' she grinned.

'You'll need some too if you intend to go swimming. Just because you're in the water doesn't mean you are not at the mercy of UVA and UVB's.'

'I'll do my front and you do the back, then,' she parroted. He couldn't have it both ways.

It was not a simple application of sun block. She was ticklish and he was exploitative. She ran, joyously yelling, to avoid him. Several laps of the deck later, the job was more or less done. His back was sensitive to her touch and she was massaging and stroking him to get rippled responses of pleasure. He didn't run away. There was no way he was runnung away. The job was thoroughly done.

They sat down to lunch. They swigged vaguely chilled beer from screw capped bottles. She plugged in her mp3 and listened to music while reading her novel. She stretched out, completely rested. There was no doubt, he was good for her.

Grissom lay on his front beside her. His bug mag wafting in the open air. He was annoyed because the sticky tape, which held in the batteries of his aging walkman, had come off and they had hidden themselves in the confines of Sara's rucksack. A few minutes of cussing later and the world was at peace again.

They were in a comfortable silence. Neither had to force a conversation to breach the empty chasm. They respected each others need for their own worlds. It was a sign of promise in their relationship.

The sun did its own thing too. A summer sun. Heating the sea around their boat, warming their bodies in a relaxed, effortless way – quite unlike the oppressive heat of the Nevada desert. But then again, they'd never processed a scene in swimmers and shorts before. The boys had needed to strip off to access pools at private complexes, under Grissom's orders, never by own choice, but it had always been in the middle of the night under flood lighting. Suddenly Sara worried that if she was at the next poolside death, would he make her do the same? It was one thing for Grissom to see her like that, but she was quite unprepared for the boys, especially Greg, to take a good look. But he'd never do that to her, she quickly reminded herself. He would never make me feel uncomfortable. That meant he'd have to go in. Half a smile ghosted across her face. She could live with that, she decided.

The desire to jump into the sea overcame her lost thoughts.

'Does this thing have a ladder at the back to climb back onboard?' she blurted out to Grissom.

He pulled out an earphone.

'Mmm, I think so. Check it out before you leap in though.' He carried on staring at a huge spider, which had the look of the devil himself, staring out from the pages.

She pulled off her shorts and threw them over his head. He pulled them off with a look of distain. Throwing them on the bedroom floor was one thing, but on a hired boat? Time and place. He folded them up and placed them on the ledge, by his side. He heard a whoop and a splash. There was obviously a ladder. He allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts once more.

For years, his thoughts would be to get a sneaky look at the semi clad woman, thrashing around in the surf below. He'd wondered what she looked like out of her work clothes, nearly making him blind with desire. Just a tiny little glance of a leg, a fleeting look of extra exposed skin around her chest if she had a low cut top on. He was bordering on being a stalking pervert, he realised.

Then he'd gone to her. Realising there was more to life than work and sleep. He had to make that first move. He'd been so insensitive so many times. He'd invited her to Vegas. She'd given up a stable life in San Fran. He owed her. But he didn't pay. He couldn't. It was improper for a teacher to take advantage of a student and the same was true at work, for a supervisor and a colleague. He couldn't let that happen to either of them. It would be professional suicide and he knew how ambitious she was. Desperate for promotion, her response to him recommending Nick had been less than understanding. She was driven. So to make it up to her, he showed he trusted her skills as a CSI. He persuaded her to be Greg's mentor. But she had dark secrets. Secrets she needed to let out…

She had always been strong minded, opinionated, shot from the lip. She wasn't backwards in coming forwards, especially when it came to locking horns with Catherine. It was after an explosive moment between them and Ecklie, when he was braying for a sacrifice, that he'd first gone to her. He struggled to look at her. But he knew this was probably his last chance to take care of her. He made sure there was a subtle, but reachable distance between them then he challenged her actions and supported her consequences. He'd gone to her as a manager. He left her as a friend again. That's what he meant when he told Ecklie he'd taken his action. He wasn't going to sack her, and he wasn't going to leave her alone either.

Then Nick. God, that was awful. He felt a shudder echo through him physically and mentally as he recalled the horrors of it all. They'd worked 48 hours straight, sitting with Nick in the AV lab, tracing mobile phone signals, chasing fake clues, leaving ransoms, being blown up. It had been a torrid time. Emotions were highly charged. That's when he realised the relationship between Sara and Nick was harmless. She'd reached out to him, sister to brother. They were a family, his family and he was missing out.

As they'd loaded Nick into the ambulance, he so wanted to hold her hand, to reassure himself as well as her. Now propriety wasn't the problem. It was him. He hated himself because of his genetics. His hearing was OK now, but could it change? It was a constant insecurity. Could Sara love him if he couldn't love himself? He had to change his perspective. What if either of them had been in that coffin? It was too unbearable to contemplate.

The need to take his feelings further for Sara had to be his priority. His desires were still there, but they were decaying, moulding as he'd ignored them so long. He'd locked himself out of harms way. If he wasn't with her, he couldn't hurt her or himself. Rejection was painful, whether you were 15 or 50. The twisted logic of a scientist. But he had to do something. So he'd done it. He'd escorted her home. They'd talked. The air was clearer. He'd finally expressed himself to her. Eloquently and succinctly. There was a glimmer of hope.

It wasn't just a physical need for her that drove him to her house that night. It was her impassioned intellect too. Her need to know more, forever questioning, locking new and quite often useless, information in her head on the off chance a similar case might crop up. The emotional development – how he brought a scientific and rational view to a scenario, while she demonstrated an empathy for victims he couldn't fathom. They needed each other to create the perfect partnership. He was so glad he'd had the strength - and she'd accepted his efforts.

A cold wet drip on his back re-routed his brain back to reality, followed by a bigger slop.

'A present… from the ocean,' she clarified, as she threw herself down onto the roll.

He reached around and pulled a strand of green, dirty, slimy sea weed off his lower back.

And then there was her sense of humour. That was definitely good for him. It brought him out of himself, especially if he wanted revenge. But there was time, and he needed to get the boat back before 6pm. He knelt up and pushed his bare feet back onto the deck. He looked at her, sun glasses on, arm draped over her fore head, eyes closed. The need for revenge was swift and just. With a passing graceful air about him, he gently dropped the sea weed onto her face. By the time she'd finished yelling and screaming, Grissom was innocently pulling up the anchor, whistling a hornpipe and changing the direction of the sails to head back to the harbour.


	5. The Challenge

**_Disclaimer - see previous chapters._**

**_A/N - this game is straight out of my head...honestly...no, really... ahem._**

Lost at Sea 5

Sara was still stropping. The seaweed was funny when she'd done it, but it was infantile when he'd returned the favour. She walked in silence, the cool box in one hand and the rucksack hurled over her shoulder. Grissom walked a step or two behind. He didn't want to trip over her bottom lip. He bore the distinct signs of amusement on his face. He knew how to make it up to her. But he was going to make her suffer for it first.

'So, what shall we do tonight?' he queried, bravely, he thought, under the circumstances.

'Don't mind,' was her curt reply.

He grinned. He looked down at his worn flip flops as he followed her. She mustn't see him smiling. The sea was far too dangerously near for that …

'Fancy a meal out? A nice restaurant on the promenade perhaps?'

'Whatever.'

'Or we could have a shower, stay in, play…poker?'

'What kind of poker?'

Her interest was captured.

Hook…

'What kind would you like to play?

…line and …

'Strip poker! With Winner's Choice!'

…sinker.

All sullenness disappeared. She slowed down for him so they could walk together. A big grin lit up her face. He knew how to win her round. Particularly if he played to her competitive streak… and he threw a few hands to keep the peace. And he loved the new twist she'd added, the first time they'd played.

'What a splendid idea. Why didn't I think of that?' he mused. 'Tell you what, I'll get the tequila, you get the pizza. Meet you upstairs in 30 minutes?'

She watched him wander into the off licence. Her grin changed from appeased to devious in 0.1 seconds.

Play practical jokes, second hand at that, on me would you, Dr Grissom? She was amused.

They enjoyed their private little games. They always ended in explosive, thrashing and, quite frankly, mind blowing fashion. If only their lab colleagues could see their social interaction then. They certainly did not have communication issues in those moments. She loved the playful Grissom, and she wanted to play her part in bringing him back to her.

She knew how to win him round. But she was going to make him suffer for it first.


	6. A Winning Hand

**_Disclaimer - Nope, still not mine. Ain't life a bitch!_**

**_A/N - thank you so much for all the positive feedback. I'm enjoying writing this and I hope you are all finding it entertaining!_**

Lost at Sea 6

The bedroom balcony door was wide open. A discarded pizza box was thrown on the floor. Napkins and paper plates were piled on top.

Hoots of hilarity were coming from outside.

The stunning view was being ignored. The lights of the promenade slipping slowly down to the beach hadn't even been registered. The bustle of holiday makers below wasn't noticed.

A blue Hawaiian shirt billowed through the doors and onto the bed.

A net curtain swayed enough in the breeze for the balcony's occupants to be revealed. An eminent entomologist was sitting in a white, plastic outdoor chair in just his boxers and scuffed flip flops. A brunette subordinate of his was sitting in an identical plastic chair. Fully dressed. She was giggling wildly as she slugged back another shot.

Grissom was nearly naked and totally bewildered. Where had this card shark come from? He'd beaten her, hands down, every time – to both their mutual satisfactions. Sara was loving every moment. She was the boss now.

She flipped over the community cards and aligned her hand with them. Grissom looked nervous. He felt nervous. He knew which item of clothing she would nominate should she win the hand – a full house or better gave the Winner Choice of victim's clothing. Two pairs, and three of a kind allowed the loser to decide. The two pairs he held wouldn't be enough to stop her rampage at the table. He looked glum as he knocked back a tequila to boost his bravery. He exhaled deeply. No point in putting off the inevitable.

He put his hand down. Sara looked at him and then his cards, flashing her eyes back to his anxious little face.

'You got me, Griss,' she conceded.

She put down a few unrelated and random cards on the table. Grissom's relief was palpable. He didn't have Winner's Choice though.

Sara put her hands behind her neck and unhooked her silver chain. She carefully put the clasp back together and she laid it on the table. Grissom looked at her, evenly.

'What's that?' he quizzed, pointing at the necklace on the table.

'My item of clothing,' Sara replied, calmly, with a sweet smile.

'That's not clothing!' he blustered. 'That's jewellery!'

'Was I wearing it?'

'Well, yes, you…'

'Then it's a fair and legitimate item to remove,' she replied, logically. 'Shuffle and deal, Griss, shuffle and deal!'

'How am I supposed to compete with that?' he complained. 'Is your hair band an item of clothing too?'

'If it needs to be. Oooh, what's wrong? Don't we like losing?' she cooed. How many times have you got me down to my knickers? Did I complain? Did you?'

'Well, no I guess,' he had to admit that.

'While you're thinking about that little equation, I'm just going to the smallest room. I've got Boozer's Bladder. 'Scuse me…'

Sara wobbled to her feet. Her head wasn't spinning around the room like a top by any means, but she knew she'd had enough shots. Her face felt warm and bendy. A little tipsy, but, in control. Just how she liked it. She regained her balance and sauntered off to the bathroom.

She had to admit to herself that she felt a little smug. She had been taking poker lessons during break times at the lab. Warrick had offered to teach her after she admitted to not knowing a winning hand.

'And you live in Vegas? Damn, girl, that's like living in Hawaii and hating the surf, dawg!'

She recalled Warrick's reprimand. She didn't reveal why she was such an attentive student. All she had thought about was equalling the parity between her and Grissom. He had twenty poker playing years start on her. Tonight was only one victory, but it was a sweet one. And he would be rewarded in heaven.

Grissom would have looked at his watch, if he'd still been wearing it. She'd got that from him in round one. Sara was taking an extraordinary long time in the loo. He looked carefully at the cards. Had she marked them? She was playing the game of her life. What was her advantage? He checked for markings, tears, dirty finger prints, sticky marks, even pizza. If he'd had his kit to hand, he would have swabbed for trace, DNA and got the print powder out. He was still puzzling when he heard a gentle sigh by the balcony door.

'And for the victor… the spoils,' a voice huskily whispered.

Grissom looked up. His chin hit the floor. Whoa, was he the winner of this encounter. She was draped, seductively, on the door frame in a black, satin gown, with very little on beneath. Her freshly brushed hair swayed gently in the cool, sea breeze floating in from the ocean. His very own Siren of the Sea was calling to him, to dash him on the rocks, to leave him limp and lifeless, lost at sea. Oh, and he desperately hoped she would.


	7. Shipwrecked

**_Disclaimer - nope, not in my wildest dreams are they mine._**

**_AN - thank you so much for the positive comments in your reviews. I feel like a proper writer now!_**

Lost at Sea 7

Grissom ached. The past 24 hours had been strenuous and his back and shoulders grumbled as he rolled over. And he didn't mind a bit. He was living la vida loca. His stretch and roll ended where the bed did. His eyes screamed in complaint as they opened in the bright sunlight now streaming through the balcony doors. He squinted, roughed his face over with his hands and tried again. All he could see was carnage. He leaned back into the pillow. He was lying on a raft, floating through a sea of underwear, bed sheets and suggestive night wear. He was shipwrecked on an island with the woman of his dreams. He realised what a lucky bloke he really was. It could have been oh so very different. But he refused to contemplate the past. The present and the future were where he and Sara were at and he wanted to make the most of every, last second.

He turned towards Sara. She was laying flat out on her front, arms and legs, knees and elbows, indicating to every different point of the compass. He hadn't envisaged, in his all too frequent dreams of her, just what a messy sleeper she was. He had considered buying her elbow pads as she moved around so much. He woke up red and bruised. Then she subtly pointed out that he snored like a chain saw. All was fair in love and war, he conceded.

He pulled a sheet up from the floor and draped it over them. He wasn't used to the nip in the air that the sea side seemed to hold.

He stared at her.

'Stop looking at me when I'm asleep, Griss. You know I find it deeply disturbing…'

She snuffled and rubbed her nose into the crumpled, white cotton pillow case.

Since Grissom had banned her from taking her ALS as hand luggage on a previous holiday, she had come to terms with sleeping on hotel sheets. She wasn't delighted by it, but realised that it was an essential part of a dirty weekend. And as she knew they were contributing dubious stains themselves, she was in no position to argue.

Mornings were not a strong part of Sara's game. Or evenings when she woke up for shift, for that matter. Grissom had come to learn quickly and painfully that rattling her before she came round was not a wise move. He ran his fingers through her hair – much more reverently than the previous evening. She responded slowly. She moved her head onto his leg and he toyed with her wavy locks through his fingers.

'Morning. How are you feeling?' he gently asked.

'Mmmmmm,' she stretched, 'better now you're not staring at me.'

'How do you know I'm doing that? I really want to know.'

'You sit still and go quiet. I don't like it when you go quiet. It usually means you're up to something.'

He shrugged.

'Or looking at an insect specimen,' he offered.

'Ewww. Not this early in a morning, please.'

She rolled over, her head falling back on to her pillow.

'What do you want to do today? I quite fancied a day by the pool. You can put sunscreen on my back again,' Grissom tempted her with.

'You enjoyed that too much.'

'And you didn't?' He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, his face awash with an impish grin.

She let out an exasperated sigh. Sara could now add sunscreen to her list of unexpected items that made Grissom insatiable.

'Pool sounds lovely, if we can have a massive cocktail with umbrellas and cherries in it and we can go to the beach in the afternoon, after lunch.'

'Sounds perfect,' Grissom had to admit. 'Can I buy a li-low?'

'If you inflate it yourself. I'm not doing that again after last time.'

He smirked at the memories of the last li-low and, in particular, its spectacular demise. Theirs was an original and unique way to burst one. Not to mention enjoyable and satisfying…

Grissom leaned over and touched her nose with his finger. He needed a shower before he dressed in his swimmers for the morning at the pool. He got out of bed and looked around the room.

'Errr, Sara?'

'Yes?'

'Where did you throw my boxer shorts last night?'

Sara let rip with a totally unladylike, snort of laughter as she watched a bemused Grissom search around the flotsam and jetsam of their previous evening. As she admired the view of his shoulders, back and pert bottom, something caught his eye above his head. He reached up. She just giggled. He pulled the offending item from the light fitting. At least he had the decency to blush an embarrassed shade of red as he trundled off to the bathroom.


	8. Cocktails and Poolsides

**_Disclaimer - do I really need to say it?_**

_**AN - Many thanks for your support and reviews. I'm just about to start the final chapter... It'll be in another 3 or 4 chapters. Anyway, enjoy and a review is always nice. Cheers, CSIBritfan. xxx**_

Lost at Sea 8

Sara had seen Grissom dressed in a variety of ways in a variety of fashions for a variety of occasions. The baggy work clothes; the irresistible faded jeans, tee shirt and cap combo; the mind blowing tuxedo; casual cargo shorts; filthy flip flops; the jaw dropping navy court suit; the hideous straw hat and that Hawaiian shirt… but nothing had prepared her for today's ensemble. She didn't know whether to laugh or just jump him right there and then. She didn't know if he was charmingly, endearingly naive about what he wore or had zero fashion sense whatsoever. Whatever the answer, she had never been so proud to be laid out on a sun lounger next to a more attractive, gentle, caring and sensitive man.

She sneaked a look at him. He had his hat on, obviously. Essential sun wear in the Grissom household. He sported a tee shirt with 'Spiderman' emblazoned across the chest – complete with cobweb motif, and his swimmers were covered up with his towel, worn sarong style, covered in lady bird insects. He was reading a well thumbed copy of 'Moby Dick.' It looked like the same one he must have read at school. Dirty fingerprints were the only things holding it together. His sun glasses adorned his face. She thought her heart was going to explode. In his own, strange way he was her man, and she wanted everyone to know. He was perfect, quirks and all. She loved him unconditionally.

It had taken a long time to be this comfortable with him. He'd broken her heart and messed with her head on more than one occasion. But she'd never given up hope on him, on them. He'd ostracised her, calling her in on her night off only to send her out to work solo, following her outing in a relationship with Hank Peddigrew. He'd made it clear he didn't want to think of her and Hank together but he didn't want to work with her either. She'd tried to get a life. That was, after all, what he'd told her to do.

She recalled printing a handrail at WLVU, following a serial killer's re-emergence. He told her that the killer had waited in the bushes, waiting for the 'right one' to come along. She over analysed. 'That's creepy,' she replied, evenly, forcing Grissom to look away and drop the eye contact. She'd had her fair share of pushing him away too. Until she decided to front him out and ask him to dinner following the lab explosion. His rebuttal had seemed final. She wasn't going to do any more chasing.

Then the first signs of burn out had started to emerge in her professional persona. She was getting more and more domestic violence and rape cases. She'd always been susceptible to violence against women and Linley Parker's rape was one too far. She couldn't bring herself to face her past and challenge her fears. She'd hidden behind drink. But that wasn't her problem. Only Grissom had recognised that. Then, after flashing her volatile temper at Catherine, followed by an outburst at Ecklie, Grissom had come to her. She had admitted to Greg that kicking off at Ecklie had been satisfying, but she also recognised it was wrong and she had gone too far this time. Grissom appearing at her door had shocked her into believing that. She really thought her career was over.

But for some reason, the fact Grissom kept charging at her barriers, opened her up to him. She trusted him despite everything he had said and done. He'd physically reached out to her. His action was small, yet, so significant in repairing their friendship.

As she stared at him through the glass partition a mental hospital, pottery shard at her throat, forced onto her knees by a deranged rapist, she knew she wanted Grissom and had to move forward, within her self. She had to finish the case and put her mother, father, history behind her to have the love she so badly needed. She told him she wanted to move on with her life. She hoped he understood what she meant. It took Nick's kidnap to push him into action.

They became breakfast partners, cooking at each other's house, hand holders, DVD watchers, kissers, touchers and feelers, gropers, sleepers and then lovers. It had been a comfortable process. Each had made it clear that if they had issues, they should be addressed. No more awkwardness. Life was just too short.

Now here they were.

Something grabbed her attention. She came round from her thoughts to see Grissom gazing at her.

'You weren't asleep, so I can stare at you as much as I like,' Grissom grinned.

She smiled at him.

'Lucky for you, I'm in a charitable mood.'

'Cocktail?'

'It's only 11am!'

'We're on holiday. Time doesn't matter. "Stop all the clocks…"'

'That's for a funeral, Griss.'

'I will have died happy… drunk as a skunk and with the love of a good woman.'

'Margarita, then, tall, on the rocks, no salt, dash of lime.'

'Shaken or stirred?'

Her look registered.

'Point taken,' he said, as he rose from his lounger, shedding his towel sarong, spreading it out in his chair.

He shuffled off, flip flops flapping on the wet concrete of the pool area. Sara gasped in dismay. As she watched him shamble off to the bar, she realised his swimmers were blue… with white, linear, palm tree patterns…the same patterns as his Hawaiian shirt.

'Please don't tell me he bought a matching set,' she groaned.


	9. Moby Griss

**Disclaimer - Yep, I know. Just for fun, and they were returned to TPTB safe and sound.**

**AN - Enjoy, like a damned good cocktail!**

Lost at Sea 9

The cocktails went down well… too well. So well in fact, they'd traded rounds and were on their third.

Grissom stirred the straw round his glass. The ice crunched against itself in protest, diluting the remnants of his Slow Comfortable Screw. He sniggered. He had hopes for that later.

Sara slurped up the dregs of her cocktail, savouring the delicious changes of fruity flavour. She'd gone for Sex on the Beach. She hoped that she wouldn't be disappointed later.

Glasses drained and totally relaxed, both scientists reclined on their loungers. Sara absorbed the view. There was no doubt that Gil Grissom could find outstanding places to stay. Their pool over looked palm trees swaying in the coastal breeze, views down to the beach were uninterrupted. This was five star luxury and she was getting accustomed to it.

The pool area was sculptured and landscaped to fit in with the calming scenery of the Pacific coastline. The pool had waves, generated by machine admittedly, but it was restful and gentle, with the water lapping up onto the contoured pool entrance. More importantly, it was quiet. He'd managed to find a child free, sea front, five star hotel on the Pacific coast. She put the internet behind his work. Doing paperwork in his office my foot, she thought. He's surfing holiday destinations.

The sun glared down, bouncing off the water in random patterns, reflecting and refracting. The tiles coating the pool offered a deep, luscious blue Sara couldn't wait to lose herself in.

'Griss, can you do my shoulders with sunscreen? And don't tickle… we are not alone,' Sara warned, as she passed the orange, squeezy bottle to her partner.

'Awww, that's not fair,' he teased. 'Come here, then.'

He squeezed a white slick of sun protection onto his hand and rubbed it on to the other as Sara re-arranged herself to accept his ministrations. He looked around. There were other couples around. He decided to behave himself. He carefully and lovingly applied the cream to her pinking shoulders.

'Just in time, Sara. You're going a little pink here,' Grissom commentated, as he smoothed the concoction into her skin.'

'How pink?' she asked, 'slightly pink, or the same colour pink as your face this morning when you found your underwear on the light shade?'

'Thank you for reminding me,' sarcasm dripping from every word uttered.

Sara's shoulders started shaking in silent mirth.

'It could have been worse, they could have gone over the balcony.'

'Don't. They aren't even my best pair.'

She couldn't control herself any more. Huge snorts of laughter erupted from her mouth.

'You have best underwear!'

'You're a sick woman,' he said, wiping the last drops of sunscreen on his towel.

'Coming from a man wearing those swimmers, that's quite a statement.'

Grissom paused.

'Before you start getting scary, can you do me now?'

Sara sat up.

'Here? Now?' she whispered in total shock. 'So bold of you, Dr Grissom.'

'Eh?'

Grissom was completely confused. Suddenly, it dawned on him.

'You have a one track mind, Sara Sidle. Not that I'm complaining about that, but I meant "do me" as in put sun screen on my back. I want to play on my li-low.'

Colour returned to Sara's face. She ruffled her hand through Grissom's curly mop. When he was flustered, he was just edible.

'Are you going to behave?'

'I promise to be a good boy.'

She uncorked the bottle and moved herself round, so Grissom's masculine back was at her mercy.

'You need to take your tee shirt off if you want this rubbing in,' she ribbed him. His mind was clearly elsewhere. She bet she knew where too.

He crossed his arms in front of himself and grasped the hem of his tee-shirt. He pulled it up, over his head, in one quick motion. Sara smiled. His hair was all ruffled. She loved that look. She watched him carefully fold it and place it under his towel.

She worked her hands into the nooks of his neck and shoulders. She loved relaxing him like this. Slow, teasing circles followed, as she traced her hands over his shoulder blades and spine, working her way down to his lumbar region, stopping only to replenish the supply of sunscreen in her hands.

'Sara, that's almost pornographic,' he sighed, utterly lost in the experience. His smile was stuck there for the day.

'It's practically a medical procedure,' she grinned, delighted with his response.

'Will you do my front too?'

'Only if you want to get us arrested for indecency.'

'Good point,' he answered, 'I did promise to be a good boy.'

He took the bottle from her and finished off the job… but he didn't like it as much. He kicked off his flip flops and he pulled his inflatable out from the side of his lounger.

'For England, Harry and St George…!'He cried.

He set off at a pace and hurled himself full pelt into the clear, cool, pool waters. It was all consuming. It spat the lie low out first, on a tidal wave. It leaped clear of the waters churned up by Moby Griss. Then a few seconds later, a bedraggled Grissom surfaced, shaking water from his face, laughing like a maniac, eyes glowing with life, youth and vigour.

'Man overboard!' he yelled, at the top of his voice, as he tried to wrestle himself onto his inflatable. It didn't co-operate. He got his second ducking in as many minutes.

Sara looked away and pretended she didn't know him.

**Thanks for reading. If you'd like to review, I'd love to read your comments. Cheers! CSIBritfan, xxx**


	10. New Beginnings

**_Thank you so much for your feedback. Glad I've made you giggle a little at least. This takes a slightly different tack so I'd appreciate your thoughts and reviews here too. Cheers, CSIBritfan. _**

**_PS - enjoy the start of the new series tomrrow! Think of us in the UK and Europe waiting until at least January! No guilt complex intended!_**

Lost at Sea 10

Grissom stood outside the seafront shack, waiting for Sara. He leaned back against the promenade wall and spread his arms out behind him to support himself. He was drinking in the glorious sunshine which beat down on his still-slightly-damp frame. His hair looked like he'd borrowed it from Greg – spiky and lopsided yet curly and loveable. His sun glasses reflected the heat and light back towards its source. His Spiderman tee shirt showed signs of wetness around the neck and shoulders. His hair had dripped on it throughout lunch. His shorts had just about dried and his feet had stopped slipping out of his flip flops. He looked peaceful. He had a beach bag at his feet with beach mats and water bottles sticking out. He reached into it for his cap. He put it on, the peak at the back and the size adjuster at the front. A shock of curly hair protruded from it. He was totally content with life. He just wondered what had happened to Sara.

On cue, his eyes found her. She had a lopsided grin of her own as she saw him. It had been a long time coming to him, but he sort of recognised it as a look of affection for him… possibly even… dare he admit it… love? He grinned back.

'Hi.'

'Hi,' she responded, simply. No other words were needed.

'Watchya got?'

'You'll have to wait. I think you'll like it,' she added, mysteriously.

He leaned forward and picked up the beach bag. He reached out for her free hand and she took it. They set off down the slope to the beach.

'Fancy a walk?' Grissom asked.

'Sure do. Where to?'

'Down here. There's a beachfront cave system down here. It might be a mile walk or so.'

'Hang on then,' Sara said, leaning forward to take her sandals off. 'It's easier to walk,' she shrugged.

Using it as a prompt to take his own foot wear off, he did so, letting the grainy sand ooze up through his toes.

'Mind if we walk on the waterline?' he asked. He danced a quick jig...the sand was getting too hot to be comfortable on.

'Definitely,' she responded, taking huge strides down to the shore. 'You read my mind.'

They held hands again as they splashed and kicked at the foamy waves shooting up from the ocean. They jumped in small pools; leapt over shipwrecked wooden beams and climbed over breaker walls which kept the tide where it should be.

Tourism was left behind them as they worked their way down the coastline. Time ticked by as they walked and talked their way to their destination.

'Here we are,' Grissom said, as they rounded a final stretch of cliff face.

'Is this a private beach?' Sara gasped, stunned at the beauty of the tiny inlet.

'It's private to us. It's a long way out for families. It's all a part of the nature so we're not trespassing if that's what you're asking.'

'Gil, it's beautiful.'

Sara stared into the darkness of the alcove. She was struck by the contradictions of nature. Of life. So gloriously warm in the sunlight, so monstrously dark and dingy in the cave.

Grissom rolled out the mats, side by side, on the virgin sand. He inflated a small pillow for each. Just because they were on holiday didn't mean they should neglect osteopathy. Sara flipped her tee shirt over her head and put it in the bag. She checked her straps were in place then she wandered down to the sea line. A distant melancholy found its way to her. It reminded her of a lost childhood. She stared out for an eternity, caught in the emotional waves of her past.

'What you thinking?' Grissom asked, snuggling up behind her, arms crossed over the waistband of her shorts.

'You can never get back what you've lost,' she replied sadly.

He smiled, gently, on her shoulder. He understood immediately. He held her tight.

'So we have to make new memories,' he said, simply.

'That's what I thought too. Come on,' she replied, gently taking his hand and leading him back up to the mats.

She opened up the blue plastic bag from the beachside shop and emptied its contents onto the sand besides her. Grissom kneeled in front. He watched her avidly and with such a rising emotion. She still ached for her childhood, the little girl lost in a sea of pain, violence and God knows what else she'd had to endure as a youngster. He ached for her.

He had to smile a little as he took in her purchases.

'As a kid, I never did this. I was always conscious that I might have …er …bruises on…' she stammered out, 'and people seeing my body and…marks and... so I never sat on a beach in a swimming costume or shorts or bikini and just…'

'Played,' Grissom finished for her.

'Yeah,' she whispered.

'Grissom?'

'Mmmm.'

'Play with me.'

'Sure.'

He immediately reached for a bucket and spade from the pile of beach toys, Sara had bought. He set to work with her.

They spent the rest of their last afternoon off shift, shyly smiling at each other, building sandcastles, jumping on them, re-building, digging a mote, planting flags on the turrets, chasing each other around the beach, hurling buckets of cold sea water at each other, screaming, yelling, laughing and enjoying creating new, happier beach memories for Sara Sidle.


	11. Can't Fight the Moon light

**_AN - Many thanks for your lovely reviews. I've been delighted by them. And so many new readers are joining up now... thanks to you guys too. This is the penultimate chapter. Let me know what you think!_**

**_Usual Not Mine applies..._**

Lost at Sea 11

Sara chose the restaurant for their last night together by the sea. It never ceased to amaze her how their private nights went by so quickly while their public nights, on shift, took forever to pass. However much a case got to either of them, they had to remain professional in the lab. Not even a reassuring hug was allowed by either. Neither could stand the comments which they knew would fly around their ears if the guys knew. So, they made appointments with each other to spend the morning talking over how bad the night had been. Both knew they could rant at each other because they understood the demands of the job. A hug was only an arms reach away. Nights like this, together, were rare and special. Even more so away from the neon madness of Las Vegas.

Sara's sandals clipped along the side street which led from the hotel to the restaurant. Her long length burgundy dress swayed over her feet and her chiffon pashmina fluttered in the breeze around her shoulders. In one hand, she held a clutch handbag. In the other, she held Grissom's hand.

He looked particularly dashing in the soft street lighting. His pale blue linen shirt, open at the neck, hanging loosely around the outside of his khaki chinos. His feet were pushed into a pair of loafers, a soft, brown leather. He was a much snappier dresser than Sara had given him credit for. No one would guess they were science geeks as they strolled through the night.

The fish restaurant they attended was a delight. The vegetarian options were numerous and Grissom positively salivated at the varieties of fish and fillets he could indulge in. A bottle of white wine later, they were already paying the bill. Sara absolutely insisted.

'For this afternoon,' she'd simply said.

He was about to challenge her, that the afternoon had been the least he could do for her, but he knew she would argue back and he didn't want the serenity of the moment spoiled by money raising its ugly head. Outside, he paid for his half of the meal with a warm, languid, sensual smooch under a street lantern.

'Now that's what I call paying your debts,' she smiled up to him.

'You know I like to pay my own way,' he replied, sweeping a strand of hair behind her ear.

He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, electrifying each skin cell on his way down her jaw line and neck.

'Fancy going down on to the beach for a little stroll?' he enquired.

'Love to. I need to walk the risotto off.'

'Not to mention the tiramisu.'

'Cheeky.'

The crickets were out in force, lightening the silence of the evening. They followed the winding path along the promenade, not saying a word. They were at an understanding. At the mouth of the beach, Grissom leaned forward. He eased his feet out of his shoes.

'It's easier. To walk.'

She grinned up at him. She took her sandals off and swung them in her left hand.

'Can we walk by the shoreline? I know the sand isn't hot, but I like it down there.'

'The water lapping up my feet. Yes, let's do that.'

Both had silly smiles on their faces.

'You know, this being in love thing is pretty nice isn't it?' said Sara, grasping his free hand once more.

'Are we in love, now?' Grissom stopped in his tracks.

Sara felt panic grip her guts and twist them, wringing them out and dumping them back inside her, upside down and inside out.

'I thought we were on the way…' she said, barely audible in the crushing, shocking silence which now engulfed them.

'Thank you.' He said.

'What do you mean, 'thank you?'

'For confirming it. I've been in love with you since we started on this mad relationship. And that's the first time you've actually verbalised it.'

Sara couldn't speak her relief as she was swallowing back her fears. Grissom merely pulled her into a tight embrace and stroked her hair, following down to her bare back.

'I'm not very good at the expressing love stuff… we weren't exactly open with our feelings in my family,' she qualified, regaling in the genuine warmth of Grissom's cuddle. 'Don't let go of me just yet…'

'I have no intention of letting you go. Sara?'

'Mmmmm…'

'Will you tell me about what happened to you? When you were little? I know there's more than what you've told me so far.'

'I will. I promise. But not just now. Is that OK?'

'I'm here whenever you're ready to tell me.'

'So much of my life was wasted - regrets and recriminations. I will not let it dominate my life now. I want you to be the most important thing. Us. I trust you, and I will tell you. But let's just enjoy this for the moment.'

A shooting star shot across the skyline, over the deep, inky ocean.

'Make a wish.' Grissom whispered.

'No need. I have everything I wanted right here.'

They meandered down the beach, splashing the surf back into the murky depths. They were leaving the bright lights behind them.

'Sara?'

'What now?'

'Have you ever…'

'What?' she pulled away and looked into his darkness shrouded face.

'Have you ever skinny dipped?'

Sara gasped and returned the question. 'Have you?'

'No.'

'Is it a regret of yours that you haven't?' she asked.

'Not a regret exactly, but it's something I would like to experience. Living is, after all, about gaining as many different experiences as possible.'

'I suppose,' she replied, her surprise at their current topic of conversation obvious. 'But skinny dipping? Where did that randomness come from?'

'The sea… 'he replied, nodding in its direction. 'It's not an experience I can have in Nevada. And I trust you enough to do this with you.'

'Won't you be…? I don't know… embarrassed?'

'Only if it's cold in there…'

'That wasn't what I meant,' she chided, swotting at his arm.

'How can I be? You'll be in there with me.'

'Oh will I?' she laughed, her hands on her hips in best strict teacher mode. 'What if someone sees us?'

'They won't from here. It's pitch black. You haven't answered my question. Have you ever skinny dipped before?'

'Can I plead the fifth amendment?'

'Nope. Yes or no?'

'No,' she admitted.

'Would you like to?'

'Now?'

'Now.'

Her twinkling eyes never left his as she stepped out of her dress. He grinned as he followed suit. Soon, there was more than one pale moon out in the dark night, as they sprinted down, into the water, hand in hand, giggling like naughty children.


	12. Back in the Lab

**_This is it. The final chapter. I've really enjoyed writing this and I'll definitely try another when I get the chance. But school is back, and I'm planning and marking all the time - hence the lateness of posting this. I just don't know when it'll be. A lab based crime one I fancy!_**

**_So many thanks to everyone who has popped in to read and huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I'd like to get up to 50 reviews by the way, so if you have time...! Cheeky, I know, but that's me all over!_**

**_CSIBritfan xxx_**

Lost at Sea 12

'I didn't realise sand could get where I have it right now…' complained Grissom, as he started to pack for the long drive back to Las Vegas.

Sara was totally unsympathetic to his plight.

'It was your idea. Didn't you shower when we got back last night?'

'You know I did,' he moaned. 'You scrubbed quite thoroughly as I remember.'

'Oh yeah, I did, didn't I.'

Grissom shook both legs, one after the other, in a vain attempt to dislodge any stray grains of the beach. He moved around the hotel room, throwing his possessions on the bed.

'How did I get all this stuff in my bag?' he grumbled.

'Just leave it, and I'll do it. You need to micro package.'

'Eh?'

'Put stuff in at different angles to fill in all the spaces.'

'Or I can just chuck it in and throw them in the washing machine when I get home,' he reasoned.

'That's an alternative…; Sara agreed.

Grissom set to work, balling his shirts, tee-shirts, underwear, towels and beachwear, pushing them into his bag. Sara watched him, amused that Mr Organised at work was Mr Shambles at home. He smiled as he zipped the groaning bag and finished with a 'ta dar' flourish.

'Nice. I'm not ironing them, you know,' quipped Sara.

He gave her a sideways look as he threw himself down on the bed. He wriggled uncomfortably as his chafing issues continued.

Sara folded and placed her things into a medium sized suitcase. She snapped it together with a 'ta dar' flourish of her own. She pulled it off the bed and placed it on the floor. She replaced the vacated space with her own body, lying next to Grissom. He put his arm out on her pillow and she curled into his embrace. She snuggled into him as she spoke.

'I've had a great time, Griss. Thanks.'

'It's been good hasn't it?'

'We'll be back in the lab in twelve hours. Can you believe it?'

'That's a point,' Grissom realised, 'no one from the lab has rung for three days.'

'Catherine can run a decent shift, love.'

'But not as well as me,' Grissom grinned.

'No, not as well as you.'

He shortened the distance between them and he kissed her.

'I bet she can't do that as well as you either,' Sara smiled, luxuriating in the final moments of their seaside break. Her brain wasn't prepared to start working yet.

'How would you know that?' Grissom asked, eyebrows touching his hairline.

'Just don't go there,' said Sara, pushing him in the ribs with her elbow.

'Ok,' he agreed, reaching over again.

'How long until check out?' Sara's eyes smouldered with rising passion.

'Half an hour or so… why? What do you have in mind?'

'This.'

Sara kissed him back. Her hands began to roam around his torso. One crept under his shirt. He began to giggle.

'You are so sensitive,' she smiled, kissing his stomach where her hands had brushed seconds earlier. She slowly undid the buttons on his shirt, kissing the skin she exposed as she peeled them away. She was aware that something else was stirring within him… Grissom just laid back and thought of England, his eyes closing in demented pleasure and his grin widening and widening.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

That night, Sara arrived to the lab a little early. She put her jacket in her locker and harnessed her standard issue pistol to her belt. She was still smiling.

'Hey, Sara, good reunion?'

'Not bad, Cath, thanks. Missed me?'

Sara smiled to herself. She had no intention of discussing her reunion, especially as it was a different one to that which Catherine was referring. She'd had hers with a certain silver haired supervisor. It was still new and still private.

'I've had to do more hours so yes, I've missed you.'

'Why have you needed to work more?'

'Grissom timetabled himself off for three days in your absence. We've been tapped out here. Every criminal in Vegas seemed to know Grissom wasn't around.'

'Should I take that as a complement?'

A familiar eyebrow arched up as an even more familiar face curved round the door frame.

'Ah, the prodigal son returns!'

'Good evening Catherine.' Grissom's famous half grin etched on his face. 'Have you missed me?'

'Oh, you have no idea.'

Sara watched the two senior CSI's, like a tennis match, eyes flitting from one to the other in a verbal rally.

'Well, it's nice to be back.'

'I can ruin your vacational afterglow with one word.'

'Oh really?' Grissom severely doubted her ability to do that, the final half hour of his holiday replaying in his mind.

'Ecklie.'

Grissom's shoulders slumped forwards.

'See? Never doubt me, Gil. He wants to see you before shift. You didn't do some evaluations or something.'

'Cath? Can you hand out assignments? Here. If I don't go while I'm in a good mood, I won't go at all.'

'Such a brave boy. I'll have a lollipop ready when you come out.'

Sara watched his baggy trousered bottom shuffle down the hall. The final half hour of her holiday played in her mind. She had to physically restrain herself from running after him to slap it.

'What have I got?'

'Do you want to go out with Grissom?'

'Pardon?' A flash of panic scooted across Sara's face.

'Do you want to go out on assignment with Grissom?' Catherine articulated, as if she was talking to an unresponsive infant.

Sara pulled her chin up from the floor.

'Sure. Why not?'

'Who knows with you two?'

Catherine flicked through the papers Grissom had given her.

'Here you go, since you've been on your holidays… have some more leisure time. Las Vegas Golf Club. Grounds staff phoned it in. DB in a bunker on the 17th…'

Catherine handed her the slip and she left the locker room, heading towards the boys congregated in the break room. Sara fought back a grin as she read the details printed on the paper in her hand.

'Did she just say what I think she just said?' Grissom stood in the empty doorway.

'Yeah.' Sara said, straining not to laugh.

'Get your overalls. I am not setting foot in sand for a very long time.' Grissom said, as he squeezed his buttocks together in miserable recognition of the previous sand related sensations. He turned towards his office and went to fetch his field kit.

Sara exploded in fits of laughter. Oh, she did like to be beside the seaside…

_**AN – there we go. All done. Thanks for reading and your support. Is it worth writing another story? Let me know and any ideas are more than welcome!**_


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